Pulling Out Knives Read online

  PULLING OUT KNIVES

  from the mind of

  TESS ELARBY

  My mind was a terrible thing to waste.

  They loved me...They loved me not.

  Copyright © 2011 by Tess Mcinnis-Elarby. All rights reserved.

  Time (to everything....I remain)

  Time and me...enemies for certain now.

  I dance this only because I am back-to-wall.

  To hours, so damn low in non-meaning,

  yet, one slip, one trip, and I fall.

  How can you know cement, or leashed down?

  If never convicted, you've never been.

  A slave, me, (slave...only human yearning

  to own the one who owned him).

  I believe I breathe, right? And I am here...

  Still, I am unquiet, undead, and in sight.

  Never will I kneel, temper, or play unwise,

  Time has me, but not my fight.

  Will is willed, and I am, anyways...

  I give to only more need--perpetual

  wrong ending, wrong grab of the knife

  Without remorse, I already know....I know...

  I bleed

  How could I have missed the moment?

  Because...

  because...

  because...

  I own only these: The spell of pee, the color red, Mondays, Rage, Fairymares, and hate.

  No one gets to own these but me. They are mine.

  Shut the fuck up, I tell my head. This time is different. He will come.

  Pacing. I trip on a rock. I wander aimlessly around the age old river's edge.

  He will come.

  No, he won't.

  Yes, he will.

  No, he won't.

  Liar. Liar. Voices arguing to the trees (or were the trees arguing with me?). I pick a branch and methodically strip it of life. I slap the branch around to hear the cool whipping sound it makes fast cutting air. Somehow 'sexually exciting' hit me. Smacking it on top of the water for a different sound, I shiver at how even more kinky provoking. I wore my best dress today. I stole the blue gauze summer froth from a local goodwill store. The tan shoes too. When the bitch had her head turned, I gracefully walked out the front door wearing my new to me dress. The tan shoes too.

  This is stupid. My head claps in agreement. I wait for the word vomit to run from my mouth hurried for the yelling. It doesn't happen, I remain quiet and frowned. Instead, I maneuver my bent body over to one of the bigger rocks. It actually kind of fits my ass, but an ouch on a sharp point gnawing my tailbone.

  Make a declaration now.

  What?

  Decide.

  Decide what?

  Your a moron.

  Fuck you.

  He blew you off...

  I swallow hard, agree with my head. Still, I sit. Here. In a sun soaked picture of what should be a bunch of fly fishing enthusiasts instead of glorious 'goodwill' me. Silence. With exception to a near squirrel making fun of me. Chaka chaka chaka chaka chaka the creature says to me. I will whip that furfucker from the tree.

  HOPE TURNS TO AGITATION

  The sun is coming down to have a grand meeting with the pine trees. The vertical stripes of light between each is an encrypted message meant for me. I could do a fairymare right now to pass more time.

  Don't.

  Why?

  You know why.

  I can if I want.

  You will be sorry...

  Eh, I can tell myself a fairymare if I want too you piece of shit head. And I can add music if I want too. Chaka chaka chaka chaka, the squirrel laughs some more. I am cold. I have no clue what time it is...watches are the devil's hourglass. Time cannot be owned. I have already tried this. If I could have owned time, I would have. Like a tape recorder. Used time to play, rewind, fast forward. Mostly rewind. Nope, I cannot own time.

  AGITATION TURNS TO DESPERATION

  I bring my fisted hand to my mouth. Tapping and pounding the fist again and again hard on my lips. Nervous sinking sick in my guts. I bite the skin on my fingers. Chewing flesh. Eyes in trance upon the water. Chewing.

  I told you he was going to fuck you over.

  Yea, maybe you were right.

  I am always right.

  Desperation is a fairymare. I cannot stop falling into that familiar rabbit hole now. Too late. Fuck...

  SONG OF THE SIREN by This Mortal Coil

  Sitting on the dry river bed in my red lipstick and white dress, I waited for his arrival. I would be a queen soon. My heart pumped the waters of love as I shifted my sitting to different poses. The trees jingled their greenest leaves like tambourines celebrating our union. The sun was my spotlight, my moment for recognition of soul. It wouldn't be long now. He would appear from the other side working his arms in unison with the branches off the willows. His eyes piercing his prize, whispering to the heavens, to me “I love you”. I leaned back to let my hair touch the flat rock behind it. Pretending to be aloof and caught in a tanning light, I waited. I imagined every scenario I could gather to be played delicately between us when we were finally one. Time passed. Still, I remained. Surely he wouldn't falter for this destined mountain we had carved by months of words gifted of desire, of desperate need to be inside the other, and soon. My lipstick faded, and the dress had

  taken on the river bed's dust by time of evening set. In the mind

  stirrings, I created hand prints of tragedy upon him. Certain his love was safe, I stood to steady my step, my hands unknowingly sweeping my dress still for his coming. I stood for awhile. I walked barefoot along rocks unaware I was leaving love's post. Perhaps, I already knew. Love was not to come. I was not to be a queen. Swallowing became noticeable as it replaced the tear. I no longer bothered with destination, but turned and let the forest have me. I dropped my shoes...leaving them to seed at this spot. Three steps further, I unzipped my dress, left it to admonish ground with all my emotions. Naked I was to the raw core that I even existed. I began to run, my feet cutting slices in the old growth of forest beds, my feet bleeding from the forest cutting back. No longer would I hold back or breathe forward. I ran. I ran. I ran.

  “We found her over there by the dredge” Someone said.

  “Well, well, what the hell happened...do we have a crime scene? Is she kicking-ass dead, ready to 'bag and tag'” another voice ignorant redneckin' loudly...

  “ Jesus Christ, look at the titties on this one”. They laughed. Like I wasn't there. I was hovering over these oddities while they dissected my cause and flitted with temptations of my bloody nakedness unveiled before them.“Oh, she is alive...but she is unresponsive, so we don't have a clue..found her damn dress back yonder, snuffed out her shoes...one over here, and one way back by the river. Doesn't appear to be a second party to this party, I don't know” the first someone sighed, scratched his head, then his balls for fair play. I sighed inside a thousand times to his one. I watched as he looked around in puzzled eyes drawing a lottery of conclusions. I watched his lips mouth the words...“Probably crazy...”

  “Do you know where you are?” The man of white, standing next to a wax woman holding a clipboard. I am noticeable by flesh only, as all worthy of this skin has left me. The questions floated over me and under me. But not in me. Sleep. I woke my eyes only to peer around this room. Terminally alone and used to it, I bear witness of confirmation I am nothing just by the lack of furnishings or color here. Perhaps this is of fate, solemn place for dying to myself. Breathe. Or not. Crossroads. Crossroads. Crossroads. where no matter where I am standing...I feel the collapsing of years, of hopes all lost to youth. For every year behind me, I had a fairytale and I had the reality. It was so much easier to believe in me when I looked in the mirror to see a reflection of a someone who could da
nce her way right into that fairytale. The world was not a pretty place, and the years stacked upon me as layers of dirt on a grave. Every shovel thrown, less chance of the fairytale, more chance of the dirt.

  Nineteen eighty one. I opened the door. That was all. He was standing there. This glorious male being with an aura smile and long hair god like, I said 'hello' and realized I had dream t of this man when I was five. As a child, I would have sorted dreams of heroes coming to rescue me from my worldly plights. My father was the first place hero to don cape in my dreams, because 'daddy' always fixes everything and make all things better. The second, was him. With exception to his face not shown in my dreams, the familiarity of his love was told to come in through my doors, and through my heart. Reckless young love, a drenched story of how little we both knew of the world. Yet in a perfect way, to be so into each other, is a important puzzle piece for the ticket to the fairytale. Eagerly, we would crave the others full attention. Playful. God, we were playful.

  “Do you think we will be like this forever?” I asked one day while swimming in the apartment pools. I swam doggie style over to him, giggling, while he leaned arms out onto the deck of the pool, legs waving beneath water. I wrapped my own legs between his and kissed him. “Seriously, will you love me forever?” “Beyond forever” he slyly smiled and off we went to wrestle legs in the waters, and in our lives. My best moments inside my youthful head's definitions of love were on full alert. The cravings multiplied. We could not get enough of each other. It was perfect. Ideal. I was his, he was all mine. Mine, mine, mine. We ran. Packed up the car and took off to the road before us. We made love in every state. Music was our binding. He played guitar, I played bass. Young, wild and dreams of the rock world. If you could have a utopia aside from heaven, then this must be it. When I'd see him smile while wickedly picking at his guitar, my emotions

  would find me crying in his arms some nights whispering my fears of losing him. Even though I knew better, because this was my prince who had come to save me. Moments of silliness bemused our bubble of living. We had settled in on a house in Hobbs, New Mexico for a bit. He had taken a job as a oil roughneck. They told him he'd have to cut his hair. Rockers do not cut their hair. I decided to buy a woman's wig at the local K mart. Lovingly, everyday at four am., I would drag my ass out of bed and stuff his long hair into this ugly woman's wig. With the hat on just right, no one knew. I would pack his lunches dutifully of whatever little we had to stuff into burritos and then I would wait for his return at dusk. I got a job working as a cocktail waitress in a Mexican bar. He would come in and drink, watch me, drink, and watch me some more. Our nights were summoned by a roll out bed from the sleeper couch. The rest of the two bedroom house remained empty with exception to music equipment and the the sleeper couch. The first dose of reality was about to inject my veins like a slow drip in the days. The fight began in the laundry mat and continued out into the car. Wrestling for the car keys, he pinned me, and bit thru my shirt taking fabric and skin into his teeth live a ravaged animal. I sat crying. I sat bleeding. Jealous would be his name from now on. The slow drip of moments of harsh punishment for my beauty, from him.

  TOURNIQET by Marilyn Manson Screaming, hysteria. My lungs sweating all those angry beads from the past . I feel creepy in my own skin. The doctors rush in, knowingly at risk of their own lives by my undoing. I kick at the wax woman and spit in a lost direction. My screaming is replaced by hissing. Inside me, I am a snake. I am a slither er who searches only to strike pain with venom. Restraints. And I don't care I am yelling over and over. “Grab her legs Dammit!” wax woman demands “if this bitch kicks me one more time...” Another another skilled white coat is caught in repetitions of the word “easy, easy, easy..” Nothing fuckin matters where I am. I am not even a body graced in this world, this place, this room. The pain of non existence is the hardest burden to bear, besides being alive in it, aside from the fairymares which just won't go away...all this has culminated to equal little slivers of wood underneath my nails. I have rotted all which is good in me, I have let life have me, men have me...insanely laughing falling down the ominous gray matter hole by another successful sedation. The laugh is knowing. Knowing I must fall to dreams and continue the nightmare there. The doctors have once again successfully married me off to the fires of a life unwanted, relived in sleep.

  He sat over in the corner taking notes with his brown eyes, not letting one of my returned glances slip, I moved with grace of a shy gift soon to be his. He grabbed my hand, lifting me to his moves. Intense, strong, and he was mesmerized I was so alive. His love stroked my hair over and over again. He took me outside the brown barn and set me up on his favorite black gelding. With no saddle, he eased manly behind me on the beast. The reins he held felt as protection around me, like his need to ride with me into his world where I would forever be safe. The air was breezy, just enough for me to capture his smell, I secretly hoping it would rub off on me, save the memory later. Slowly, each step across the field was a whisper in my ear about my beauty, about how he will take me higher, and I would know his love was delicately building a palace. His arms strong as the pony took to gallop. The wind on my face was the world secretly letting me have all of this, finally. I leaned into him and wanted to silently get inside. We would build a life

  together chasing stallions and growing our own vegetables. Our nights would be on the porch swing listening to the wolves call out to their mates at night. It would become a somber, simple life...of just him and I. The black snorted and picked up gait. Through love's glaze, I looked up to see the darkest forest rising up before us. I noted the sun making an inexcusable exit. The breeze beget the walls of wind, as I frighteningly felt for his warmth and control behind me. He was weakening, his voice non-existent. Between the fast approaching angry forest, the horse's hooves beating deep, gauntly holes into once green ground, now I was afraid to turn around. Turn around and look at the man who brought my vulnerable soul to believe of this place. My heart was pounding sickly, my thoughts beyond fighting truth, and I knew if I turned around I would collapse. I already knew. As the pony snorted and ripped the opening of the darkest place not of forest, I already knew. I was alone. Again. Collapse.

  FUCKIN PERFECT by Pink

  “Get in here” an orderly yelled down the hall, “she is seizing from the medications, we need to get her upstairs immediately”. I feel myself being wheeled off because I feel air breezing against my tiny little arm hairs. That is all I feel is air. I am still asleep I say to myself...caught between the fairy mare, and real time. I wonder why these humans insist on playdohing with this body of mine. What is it they want from me...some semblance of sanity? Make me all of a sudden sit up on the table and say “Hey thanks, all better!” To shake hands and makes small formalities? Jump off the silver makeshift bed magically already in my clothes and shoes and out the door? More importantly, why do they care, if they care. Eventual decaying of all the passions and dreams I held a lifetime now forming a life threatening boil of only gray matter. Lancing it won't heal it, it will only become a drain for all the world to see now. To see, I have lost my colors to everything poison.

  A SIMPLE LIFE by No Doubt

  Nineteen eighty four. It wasn't the fairytale wedding I expected. In fact, there was no magic to the day at all. A Judge. And I had asked him to marry me after a long separation from each other. The separation imposed by him after our long love affair and road trips left us hollowed up in a garage turned apartment two blocks from the beach. It seemed innocent and new, those walks on the beach with the dogs. The night breeze penetrated each step in the sand and our wanderings led us past homes so beautiful we said one day would be ours. Every night, as routine led us by those homes, I would glance in and imagine what it would be like to live there. Others lives. So perfect. So complete. They had followed the storybook path to perfection and this is where it continued. A home overlooking the ocean. Meanwhile, my own story at that time was built on desperate measures for money and deprivation of
any path leading towards a happy ending. He was insecure about looking for a job and collected measly amounts working at the Seven Eleven. We were young, it's okay, I would tell myself. Until he left me. Stranded in California, not knowing a soul, and now love lost. For two, maybe three days, I sat unnoticed by the world in the middle of the garage-apartment. I crossed my legs and arms off to hope, to love, to anything. I cried, I crawled, and let the loss own me. Frightened. The feeling of being high on love, together, in a new world, now pulled like a bad heart out of a dying patient. I crawled in tears across the floor with bottle of pills in hand. Contemplation. For the first time I knew love could and would leave at any given whim. Worse, I was here in a place where only the beach was my connection to familiarity. As that remained was some small measly material possessions. I left all of our possessions collected together. I left us...and the ocean dream. I fled. One car, two dogs, me...and a stray mutt I picked up in Bar stow. Drove to Montana listening to the same Led Zeppelin tape over and over, as if I could pluck the good days back . I made it home in three days, minus the night stranded in a gas station parking lot during a storm. I had forgotten to put oil in the car. The lightening was a sky freak show, and I was stuck in a strange place in the mountains. I knocked on the house attached to the gas station in dire for assistance. “Come back when we are open” an old man yelled at me through glass. I was drenched. Drenched to the spirit that put footsteps before me. I slept in the car with the three dogs, while the storm continued it's rage upon me to remind me I was unwanted. I cried all night, loud wails like the loud winds around me, all dancing together to celebrate my arcaneness. It was 4 months later. He returned. Led Zeppelin's “In My Time of Dying” and “I'm Gonna Leave You” could have saved me if I had listened well to the songs. Married by the judge. We smoked some Jamaican weed to celebrate. Yet I never felt the same about him.